


Release

by myfinefriend



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Draco, M/M, half blood prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myfinefriend/pseuds/myfinefriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Half Blood Prince, a glimpse of Draco as he attempts to cope with the pressures put upon him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

My face is buried in his neck and I can barely catch my breath. It’s animalistic and intense and I need this release more than anything else – I need to feel, to break the numbness. I need to end the monotony and stop the dull ache...

“Potter,”

Grunts and gasps are slipping, muffled, from my lips and I’m buried up to the hilt. I slide and push, in and out, of his hot tight heat again and again; in, out, in, out. It’s the only thing that feels real right now, nothing else is worth feeling.

We used to make love and occasionally we still do, but afterwards I feel scummy, worthless. I don’t deserve any of him; I’m a liar and a cheat. The mark resists glamours and so, as the rest of my body fades, it burns stronger than ever, reminding me daily exactly why my entire life is turning to shit. It’s getting harder and harder to hide. I can feel him clenching around me and my breath is coming out in little puffs as he cries out. His hands, his white, calloused, loving hands, are clamouring at me, grasping at my chest, my arms, my shoulders. One makes it to the back of my head, tangling itself in my hair, holding me closer, as his body bucks up to meet mine. His fingertips ghost down my spine. His chest brushes against my own and I can’t look down – I can’t meet his piercing green eyes or I’ll break. I’ve spent so long mastering the art of control and I can’t let this ruin me.

I can feel the groan coming, the groan of release, welling up inside of me. The feeling’s rushing from the core of me to the surface, penetrating the skin. It’s bigger than anything I’ve felt in a long time and in that second, I almost forget.

I’ve lasted an embarrassingly short time but I’ve waited longer for it and now it’s all coming out. I’m emptying everything dormant within me and my teeth are clenching around the skin of his shoulder and I know the bruises won’t fade for weeks. The thin layer of sweat covering his skin has long since eliminated the friction between our bodies and so now I’m sliding against him, writhing, collapsing and losing it as he moans in my ear, filling my head and befuddling my mind. It’s hazy, as it always is in the moment of release, but as soon as it clears, I’m sickened. He’s lying millimetres away but I’ve never felt so far from him. I shouldn’t be here – realistically, I should be as far away from Harry fucking Potter as I can possibly get. I put us both at risk each and every time I so much as look at him.

Asides from anything else, I’m not worthy; not worthy to touch him, to kiss him or to contaminate him. Harry’s the last good thing I have in my life and I’m not even big enough to walk away and protect him. It would be the right thing to do, of course it would. Staying and risking him, hurting him, lying to him – that’s what I’m doing; making all the wrong decisions lately has become my forte.

“Draco,” His voice is all breath – no-one’s ever said my name so tenderly before, so gently.

_“Draco!”_

My aunt summons me weekly now to exhaust me with occlumency.

“You’re tense,” Harry’s observant – too observant. Even in the moments of release, I can’t let my guard down.

I’ve always been good at compartmentalising my emotions. Reverence and hatred and desperation and fury have wrestled inside of me from a young age and I’ve since learned to handle them expertly.

_“Well done, Draco!”_

Her praise at my progress is almost warm and I wonder fleetingly if Aunt Bella is perhaps the only member of my family who truly loves me. It sounds ludicrous yet she's the only one who knows me for what I am - she's one of the few. Harry, he sees the good in me whilst my parents see only what they want to see. I know she’s only using me to please her Master, her Dark Lord, but perhaps Bella knows me better than anyone else. Apart from anything else, she’s seen it all - every last thing. She’s been inside my head more than I have.

My memories of Potter I fought hard against exposing – if occlumency is hard enough to learn, it’s even harder when you’re desperately reading up on it in the library in the early hours, praying one stupid mistake or weakness won’t prove to be your ruination. Blood runs thicker than water, pure blood especially, but I know Bella wouldn’t hesitate for a second if she discovered the long nights I’ve spent in the Slytherin dormitories wrapped up in Harry, let alone the even longer, lonely ones I’ve spent alone pining for him.

“Draco,” He’s saying my name again, this time there’s sadness in his voice, and I can hardly bear to hear it.

“Look at me,”

I turn reluctantly and those green eyes I'd tried so hard to avoid are shining earnestly in the moonlight.

“What is it?” I snap irritably – I can barely control my anger anymore, to anyone. I’ve had more detentions in the past month than I’ve ever had in my life and I find myself unable to care. It’s like the emotions I’ve bottled and compacted will forever remain like that, leaving me an unfeeling husk – right now it seems like a sensible outcome.

“Draco, please,” There are tears growing in his voice and although it hurts me, it doesn’t hurt me anywhere near enough to make him stay.

“I have to be up tomorrow for potions, Potter - I’m tired.” I say monotonously, giving nothing away as he stares in disbelief. Even though I've averted my gaze from his, I can still feel it piercing me. In an attempt to avoid this I roll onto my side and close my eyes tight, trying to keep my breathing steady.

“Fine.”

His voice is angry now, outrage oppressing grief, and his hands are trembling as they snatch quickly away from my skin and towards the floor, scooping up his clothes and dressing quickly, messily, as I try to block out the noise. I can’t be a part of this anymore; I barely feel human. 

His footsteps are hurried, anger and hurt is making his careless but no-one else is awake to hear and one can only hope the silencing charms are still holding. I turn back when I hear the door thud shut, rolling onto my back and sighing a deep sigh that seems to fill spaces I didn’t know I had with cool air. It doesn’t help though – my lungs feel as constricted as ever. I run my hand lightly under my night-shirt, which clings sweatily to my body, and over my chest feeling the ridges from the scars the Dark Lord ordered Pettigrew to give me months ago as a punishment for lack of progress. It only hurt for a little while until I passed out but, as I remember it, it was an acute, piercing pain which penetrated every part of me. With a trembling hand Wormtail had cut me open far deeper than intended and, in that fleeting moment, I genuinely thought I was going to die. It was only a brief flash of lucidity in which Pettigrew stood dumbly staring open mouthed at his own idiocy but my mind was racing as it considered those I would leave behind. I took all else in only peripherally as Harry flashed before my eyes - laughing, crying, cheeks pink with happiness and pallid with grief... Would he cry? I was almost certain he would. In the long run, though, I was sure he would regard it as a lucky escape. I thought then of my mother; my father could handle the problems he brought upon his own family himself as far as I was concerned but mother, she didn’t ask for this. She deserved none of it.

I kept going for her. In the early days, I considered running. But, where could I go? There wasn’t an inch on earth in which the Dark Lord could not find me and who was I to put the ones I loved in such danger? My parents would die, surely, and Harry - I couldn’t bear to think… Look at his mother.

My father always told me that sentimentality was dangerous, only now am I beginning to understand he may have been right.

**Author's Note:**

> This may end up with more chapters, I'll see how motivated I am!
> 
> Comments and feedback are always appreciated. :)


End file.
